


The letter B.

by JesterOfSmiles



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: A series of unfortunate events - Freeform, Beatrice Baudelaire - Freeform, First Fanfiction on here, JesterOfSmiles, Lemony Snicket - Freeform, More like free form writing, My attempt at Snicket Writing, Other, hell yeah, i hope you like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 16:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14312379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesterOfSmiles/pseuds/JesterOfSmiles
Summary: An attempt to free form write the 'Beatrice Letters', using my interpretation of Snicket himself.





	The letter B.

If you are interested in a story with a happy end, look elsewhere: this is the sombre tale of a lost love written in absinthe form.   
A disconsolate tale, disconsolate meaning: without consolation or comfort; unhappy, that should not be viewed by anyone. You and the audience have no such obligation to listen and should lend yourself to the decorum of haphazard lenses into another tale.   
However, if you will commit yourself to the perjury of happiness, and lend your intrigue into these letters to B you will be unpleasantly surprised and henceforth look elsewhere.   
This story will be dreadful melancholy, and calamitous. 

 

For Beatrice -  
Our hearts pumped together  
Sadly  
Yours stopped pumping.

I loved you like the fire loves and clings to the embers below. Until one day death swooped down like a bat and took you from me. In this series of 'unfortunate events', one must always expect the unexpected. Unfortunate meaning; not marked by fortune. Such as you in your grave.

Darling Beatrice -  
It is so unfortunate how I am here and you are not.   
That fire burnt without simmering, embroidering your home in the flames. And in the ashes, there was no phoenix that rose. This typewriter grows weary and I am lost without the letter B.

Six feet under Beatrice -  
In the night time, I lay awake reading a good story. The candle light flickers in the underground labyrinth that reminds me of you. As you passed, there lay not one orphan but three. The world is a cruel place. Cruel to take you, cruel to lend your heart to another. But as this shade of time passes, your memory will not fade. I remember the blue roses, do you remember them? The blue roses for Beatrice.  
The blue roses lain upon thy rocky stone of grave disproportion; unfairness.

Dearly Departed Beatrice -   
As you were in life, so beautiful and seemly   
Incandescent as the typist   
Who types by the butterfly belts   
A poem perchance, for you   
For Beatrice.

Beloved, broken,   
battered Beatrice -

As a street magician uses simple card tricks and sleight of hand, I tap the keys miraculously. Lo u sy type w r i t e r.  
there is no cap i tal 'b.'   
the cigarettes taste starkly like your lips  
burnt out  
pleasing  
in the ground battered.

benevolent beatrice-  
I once loved a girl and she thought well of me, we thought we'd be happy together, but now i'm alone as you can well see and your cold in your grave forever.

transparent, beatrice -  
as it may seem hopeless, in this land of misery and woe; I wish the best rest upon thee. although the best is often an oncoming train ready for collision.

I would have loved you beatrice had I seen you once a week, once a year, once a millennium. but in this place of untimely, ultimatums where its sink or swim, the sinking siren spends its days by the rustic shore  
filled with leeches.

beatrice   
beatrice  
the candlelit typewriter blanks   
the 200 pages you write send me into a daze  
and I wish you adieu beatrice  
in your untimely grave.  
beloved beatrice.


End file.
